


Range Time

by d__T



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Coming In Pants, D/s, Distractions, Exhibitionism, Gun play, I know pistol ranges don't work like this don't @ me, Indigo is an oc, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, idk how to tag sorry, second chapter tags in chapter notes, the jw universe is a fantasy universe I do what I want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22443748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: John takes Indigo on a date to a practice gun range. It's Indigo's idea, and the idea is to send John into a practice run with a prostate massager up his ass.It's a great idea.
Relationships: John Wick/Indigo North
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this for @jawnwicks excellent art on twitter: https://twitter.com/jawnwicks/status/1217736088976089090
> 
> John W is in his very late 20s and Indigo is in his mid 20s.

Range time is a fact of John's life. There’s a network of practice ranges all over. Not a  _lot_ , and most of them serve the public, police forces, and special training services as well. They’re not part of the Continental network but coin buys the same. Private range, private time.

This one is more of an agility/puzzle course than a pure target course. It’s one of his favorites and it’s the best for the kind of work that he usually does.

And this? Is a date. His date isn’t even initiated. John’s here to show off. What the fuck is he doing.

Indigo gets out of the car as John hoists a duffel out of the trunk. This is the back entrance; a weedy parking lot bordered on one side by a low and just as weedy building. Beyond that is the main range, both indoor and outdoor.

Indigo stretches, looking around. “This is totally illegal, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, mostly, it’s rude to mention it.” John shoulders the duffel as he drops the trunk shut. The range doesn’t let them keep weapons on site; being an armory is the Continental’s job. “Let’s go.”

Indigo follows him into the low building. Inside there’s a tiny dusty waiting area that nobody uses, and a bored attendant. Indigo scuffs his feet behind him, bored as John finishes transacting with the attendant. He ends up with two sets of keys; one for the control room and one for the staging area.

They have to walk for a while. The range they’re going to is in a squashed office building thing that’s ostensibly only used for firefighter training. It looks like a low poly render of an office building and inside it’s shaped like one, but it’s built to be burned again and again and again. It’s very foreboding with its bare concrete exterior and the waves of smoke-soot above each window opening.

The control room is in a little shack set outside of the berm of dirt around the building. The staging room is beside it.

John takes Indigo to the control room first. The entire complex is wired with cameras and they all go through here. A recording is made, but this setup is entirely disconnected from the internet and the system automatically deletes everything with a zero overwrite every 12 hours. If you want your recording, you have to make a physical copy and hand carry it out.

Indigo drops into the only chair in the room, spinning it around as John boots up the system and introduces it to a new hard drive. He stops spinning when all the camera views come up. “This is fucking insane, man.”

John shrugs. “You’ll have a good view.”

“No shit.”

John could shoot out every camera, he’s been here so often. Maybe he’ll do a speed run with a paintball gun someday. He’s not a dick.

The targets are already set. He doesn’t have to do anything there. They’re the palm sized white ones with black crosshairs and a little red light to indicate when it is valid to shoot the target. They’re really super obnoxious.

“Okay, c’mon.”

Indigo follows him to the staging room where he leans on the wall as John opens up the duffel onto the table in the middle of the room. The room is styled like a locker room but the lockers don’t lock and the bench isn’t nearly scarred enough.

The table is a little longer than John is tall. He starts at one end and lays out every harness, pistol, and magazine that he will use in order of where they’ll go on his body, as well as the folded bundle of his suit.

Indigo catches onto what he’s doing pretty quickly and places the prostate massager on the table right about where his butt would be if he was laying on the table with his stuff. It contrasts with the rest of his gear with its smooth and swooshy red and black styling. He feels a little hot just looking at it there like that.

Indigo grins at him. He smiles.

He’s really doing this, huh. He strips down. This isn’t a show; it’s efficient. He’s going to the place where he puts on the suit, and he’s doing it for fun. It’s already messing with him.

He starts with the massager. He lubes it and works it into himself. It’s like the rest of his kit; uncomfortable until it settles into place. He can feel when his body accept it because the intrusiveness reduces and the tab that presses on his taint snugs into place.

“I could have helped you with that.” Indigo says slowly.

He shakes his head. Steps into his boxers- normally he’d wear something a bit tighter, but he expects to want the space-, socks and the sock garters. Pulls the trousers on. Indigo’s watching him like he’s trying not to betray himself by breathing too much.

Shoes. Belt. Undershirt and button down. Tuck it all in and buckle his belt. Indigo whistles quietly at him.

Shoulder harness. Check the pistols and holster them. Check the magazines, one under each arm, three on each side of his belt. Normally he’d make stashes in the building for a clearing op but this isn’t that. Tie. Make sure his shirt sits right under the harness. Jacket.

He shimmies slightly and it all settles into place.

Indigo presses something on his phone, the massager goes  _bzt_ , he grunts. He saw the motion of Indigo’s fingers, he knew what was coming, and he still clenches around it.

Indigo smirks, “Oh, good, that works.”

“Give me five minutes before you-” John waves his hand vaguely.

“Sure thing. See ya in a few.” Indigo winks at him.

He’s already slipping into focus, reviewing what he knows about the building and the task that’s been set up for him. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before. He should have kissed Indigo before they’d split ways.

Hm. Too late now.

The building rises up in front of him, all grey and ominous. This is a search and destroy. Get in, get out. He opens the door and walks in like this is a real building and he belongs there.

Indigo  _bzt_ s him.

He shakes himself slightly. Lifts his hand to wave at the camera behind the steel mockery of a receptionist’s desk instead of wrecking the camera’s shield with a shot. He keeps going.

They’ll have hidden the target in here somewhere. He has to find it, and that will launch the hard part of this, or he’ll run out of time and have to find it under duress. He heads right for the stairs and to the top of the building’s three floors.

Halfway up,  _bzt_ . It has way more effect this time: stairs are boring, climbing them is shifting the massager inside him, he’s been calibrating his motion to accommodate it. He doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t let it show, treats it like a twinge from an injury.

He bursts out onto the third floor. Up here there’s an array of steel office-cubicles. Lots of nooks and hidey holes. He’s moving pretty fast, does one lap around the inside and then another around the outside in the other direction just to make sure they didn’t stick it under a desk or something.

He’d been got by that once and he’s distracted now.

But it’s not up here. Indigo’s only  _bzt_ ed him a few times. He hits the stairs down, moving fast.

Second floor. It’s got more open space- it’s set up like a set of conference rooms with cubicle area on the near side. The conference rooms would be glass walled but this is a burn building and instead of glass they have a sturdy metal mesh instead.

And there’s targets  _everywhere_ . He bolts across the room, getting up on the desks and relying on his stride to get across them as fast as possible, tallying where all the targets are as he goes, rebuilding his mental map of this place. He’s running out of time; internal counter on Indigo and internal counter on when it all blows up running down in unison.

_bzt_

_Fuck_ . He wants to cop a squat and rub at it. Just for a moment.

_bzt_

The conference rooms force him to go slower. He has to look into each one. He’s getting a little desperate.

He unholsters one pistol, keeping it low.

There it is, down in the cattycorner of the furthest room. It’s like they did that on purpose. He scans the targets.

He jump up onto the table, strides down to the other side, and drops down onto the top of the ‘prize’. There’s a button on the top and he clips it with his heel as he comes down on it.

There’s a perfect moment of stillness and then  _everything_ lights up red.

He empties one magazine on his way out of the complex of conference rooms. Holsters the pistol, draws the other one. Empty, load, repeat. The perfect schlick of the magazine sliding in and locking.

He bolts back out through the cubes, heading to the stairs as fast as possible. If this was real, or at least the laser simulation, he’d be underarmed. As it is, he empties the last of the magazine into the newly activated targets in the stairwell, a burst of shots at every landing and moving like he’s sliding down the steps in between.

There’s a moment here; he’s cleared everything that he can see. He reloads everything. He slides the back of his thumb along the outline of his dick down his pants leg. Not hard yet, more than a little thick. Indigo has chosen a low pattern.

He knows that won’t last.

He hits the crash bar out onto the ground floor with his whole weight. It tends to stick and there’s no need for finesse.

Targets light up, some blinking. He has to time them right, he can’t just hit them in a wave working out from where he is in the shelter of the doorway. And he must have stayed still too long; Indigo picks a much more insistent vibration pattern. He feels like he’s gonna buckle. When he moves, he almost does. Every motion is moving against him, screaming at the edge of his awareness for attention.

He’s not nearly as practiced at silencing this. He’s gotta go.

This area is a warren. It’s deliberately confusing. He hits a wall three turns from the door and leans there for a moment, panting. It shouldn’t be this- hard.

He drags the smooth butt of the pistol down his erection like cool steel and the graze of his palm will sooth it.

It has the opposite effect. Fuck this, fuck his score. He bolts for it.

The sunlight outside is blinding and the only thing that keeps him from falling is that he’s moving too fast. Gravel crunches under his shoes, Indigo picks a different pattern, jolting him. It’s all he can feel bar the muzzle heat from his holsters at his sides, he’s wondering how he didn’t come moving around like that.

He almost expects Indigo to meet him outside but Indigo only meets him at the door to the control room. The walk leaves him feeling like he’s squirming inside his body and even though the step up into the control room gives Indigo some more height, he’s still shorter than John.

Indigo looks him down and up, a long intense look. John looks back and sees that Indigo is at least half hard himself. He bites his lip.

“That’s a good look on you.” Indigo eventually says. “Guns on the ground and out of reach.”

John kneels straight down and the slide of his trousers up his legs, the tightness is unforgiving and he’s trying to not make sounds about it and failing. He unholsters both pistols and the one unused magazine and leans over to put them out of easy reach.

They both know that this won’t nerf him. Wouldn’t even slow him down if he wanted to take Indigo down. After all, he’d pulled Indigo out of a fight, literally slinging him over his shoulder and Indigo had scratched the shit out of him for his troubles.

He’s still healing from some of those, and the ones he’d gotten after.

He looks up at Indigo and isn’t very surprised that he’s ended up like this.

Indigo slides the smoothly pointed toe of his boot up the inside of his leg. He holds still, trembling slightly as Indigo passes over his erection. He shuts his eyes. He can’t stand Indigo watching him like this.

Indigo traces down between his legs until he finds the tab of the prostate massager. He rocks it slightly before pausing to change the vibration pattern to be smoother, slightly less intense but- all the more so for how Indigo is rocking it into him.

“Look at me.”

The sunlight is too bright again, he has to squint.

“I want you to come for me. But, you aren’t allowed to touch it.”

“Just-” He drags his fingers over two layers of fabric and his dick.

“Like that.” Indigo approves, spurring him on.

He smooths his palm over it, pressing it into his leg, he needs more, he’s unconsciously thrusting against his own leg in time with Indigo’s nudges.

“Oh, that’s very good. 60% though, that’s not very good.” Indigo nudges him harder, jolting him.

The conflict makes him come with a long groan. He can feel all of it between his hand and his leg.

He blinks up at Indigo, who’s grinning at him. Indigo drags the toe of his boot along John’s softening dick, and then further, pressing the fabric in against his leg until the cum soaks through.

“Hey.” He protests weakly.

John feels like he’ll keel over if he tries to stand, and does it anyway. He comes up into Indigo’s space, pushing him back against the doorframe and sliding his hand up to cup Indigo’s bulge. “Do you want something?”

Indigo gasps before shaking his head. “You’re giving me road head.”

“It’s my car.”

“And you’re in no shape to drive. Go clean your guns up, we’re getting out of here.”

“Fuck, okay.” John acquiesces.


	2. It's Gunplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Indigo and John arrange a totally, perfectly safe gunplay scene. They're both professionals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: gunplay, facefucking, John cries a little, topdrop, they get into it like emotionally
> 
> warning: this fic is from the pov of the character who topdrops.

Thing is, he knows what John Wick is. They all do. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together can see it. The man’s dangerous, and not in the professional assassin way. In the big dog with untreated anxiety way. People keep thinking that they can leash him, and he keeps snapping the leash but keeping the collar.

There’s just something about that which draws Indigo like a moth to flame.

John Wick is standing in the door to the shitty apartment that he shares with Row, backlit by the cruel sun.

“Come in,” Indigo says, “weapons on the table.”

They’re in the same business, after all. He knows that disarming John doesn’t make him any less dangerous; he’s got 5 inches and 45 pounds of muscle on Indigo. There’s a reason he takes the sniper assignments.

John takes his jacket off. He’s not coming from or going to a job but he’s still armed. He folds the jacket, placing it on the side table, then placing his pistols on top of it followed by the holster harness.

John shakes his shoulders out slightly.

“Middle of the room.” Indigo commands.

John goes, trading places with Indigo. Indigo pops the magazines out of the pistols, then clears the chambers. There’s nothing in them, but he likes to be careful. He doesn’t use pistols particularly often but he knows what he’s doing.

John watches him impassively. He’s getting used to Indigo touching his things. “Is Row around?”

“Nah, she’s out on a job. We got the place all to ourselves.”

“Don’t you usually-”

“They didn’t want ranged services.” Indigo tucks a cleared pistol into the back of his jeans. It’s big for his hands and he’d be mad about it if he didn’t like fucking with men bigger than him so much.

He steps towards John. Puts his hand flat in the center of his chest and pushes. “Down.”

John stumbles slightly back before kneeling.

What they all don’t know is how much John wants to obey. It’s just the endemic cruelty that keeps him from being a perfect killer.

“Better.”

Indigo walks around John, surveying what he’s working with like he doesn’t already know exactly what he’s gonna do. He dick twitches just thinking about it in the abstract.

Survey complete, he squats down in front of John. He undoes the buttons of John’s shirt down to his belly before pushing it back off of his shoulders and down his arms. It pulls his arms back, pushes his chest out. It’s a good look on him.

Indigo slowly trails a finger over him, starting just above one exposed nipple and sliding over his collarbones, up his neck which he obligingly tilts his head for, over his cheek to the inside corner of his eye, to the center of his forehead. Indigo pushes him then, one fingertip only, and John sways back far more than the force applied would merit.

Indigo lets him stabilize, watching him breathe. He looks calm but there’s already something sliding loose inside him and Indigo is gonna push, push, push.

When John is steady, Indigo draws the pistol from his belt and traces the exact same path again. John stays still again, except for his breathing, except for the push.

Indigo follows John’s swoon this time, keeping the muzzle to his forehead, pushing him further back into the lean. He looks down John’s body to the strain of the pose in his belly and hips and thighs and wants to dig into that too. Instead he pushes just a little bit more, just enough to leave a muzzle imprint on John’s forehead.

“If you want to come up, you will take it into your mouth.” Indigo traces the opposite path down the other side of his face to the corner of his mouth.

John doesn’t move for a very long time, long enough that Indigo is thinking that he might have to do something dramatic to move this along.

When John finally opens his mouth and turns his head, Indigo holds the pistol still, forcing John to either stretch his lips or lean back further, and John chooses the former, the muzzle entering his mouth with a slight pop. And then John comes up, taking the barrel into his mouth. Indigo continues holding it until he feels it catch at the back of John’s mouth, only then does he let John come all the way up out of the lean.

“Good. That’s very good, John.”

John groans around the metal in his mouth.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

John groans again, this time with bonus spittle sound.

Indigo drags the gun out of his mouth, wiping it over his cheek and John is still until there’s no more contact and then he falls forward against Indigo’s leg with a great gasp.

Indigo lets his hand rest behind John’s head, pistol pointing down alongside his spine. The weight pushes them together, John yielding to the suggestion as Indigo tousles his hair with his free hand.

“How’s that, huh?”

John just keeps making those raspy panting sounds.

“C’mon, look at me.”

John turns his head up. It makes him wide eyed, opens his mouth.

“Hm.” Indigo slips his thumb into John’s mouth. “Better.”

John sucks at his thumb, tongue curling around the pad of it. Indigo watches him coolly despite how this is heating him inside, the burn of John’s tongue around his thumb. He works his thumb in a little bit more and John just lets him do it until he can grab his jaw and move his head.

Indigo pulls John’s head up before prodding him to open his mouth just enough to slide the end of the gun between his lips again. It catches on his teeth, Indigo tilts it to fit the narrow way and then again to open his jaws further. He commands, “Suck.”

He shifts his hand to hold the side of John’s head, fingers tangling in his hair as John visibly tries to figure out if he’s gonna do something with his tongue and the deep notches of the muzzle brake. Someone’s gonna have to clean that later, and it’s not Indigo.

John gives up on the brake and takes a bit more into his mouth without Indigo prompting him. Indigo croons approval at him for it and the moment John registers that with a swallow and intensified attention, Indigo pushes further into his mouth.

It startles him but he can’t pull back with Indigo holding him; he must accept it.

Indigo gives him a moment before starting again. There’s notches on the rail; two in, one out, John trying to keep the metal from abusing his lips until it’s all the way into the back of his mouth. There’s still barrel left, though. Just a finger’s thickness.

It looks like it hurts.

“C’mon, just a little more.” The unforgiving square of the brake isn’t gonna fit, and that’s fine. Indigo tilts John’s head back, using the pistol to move him. The pistol slides just a bit more.

John gags, tears in his eyes.

“You can do it,” Indigo chides gently before pulling back and stealing the chance to even try from him.

John breathes and seethes. Each time Indigo takes it away from him, he falls apart a little more. Something unachievable versus whatever his training is that makes him nearly inhuman.

“Pity. I’d love to see the guard against your lips.” Indigo knows that he could have taken the brake off, that he could have made John do it. He just didn’t feel like messing around with screwdrivers. He pulls out halfway and thumbs the hammer back.

He knows that the gun is cleared- there’s not even an empty magazine in it- but John knows better to assume anything. His twitch away is reactive, instinctual, careless of how it will hurt as Indigo catches him with his grip in his hair. “Shhh, now now.”

“Won’t hurt a bit.” He drags the pistol out from between John’s lips, over his chin and down his throat to settle in just above his Adam’s apple. There’s a thin red tinge in the trail and slick gloss on the black metal. Not a lot, enough to hurt for a good long while.

John is staring at him, eyes wide and panting. Indigo knows that he can’t see what Indigo is doing with the gun at this angle. He lines his thumb up with the decocker, which is such a cute feature for John of all people to have on his main weapons, and takes a breath through his own paranoia.

Indigo releases his grip on John’s hair at the same time as he presses the decocker. It drops the hammer with a resounding  **click** and John flinches backwards, far enough that he rocks up onto his heels before he gets his body under control again.

Indigo  _tsk_ s. John flinches again, smaller this time.

Indigo nods, and that releases John. He tips forward, back onto his knees, and then more until his forehead is touching the floor and his face is completely hidden by his hair. He’s shaking slightly.

Indigo kneels down and John’s head is nearly between his knees. He places the pistol on the floor, as far away as he can, and making sure that the motion is audible.

The tremors in his back get worse then, his breathing deep and uneven; he’s crying in silence. Indigo stays still for a moment to give him time before touching him again.

He gently works John’s shirt off of his arms; he’s not going to be able to release the last few buttons that made the bind work, but freeing his arms will be good enough for now. John immediately moves them to cover his head and instead ends up with them half draped over Indigo’s legs because of how close together they are.

Indigo bends over John until his own forehead touches his back, shielding him with his body. 

After a while John stops shaking. Indigo straightens up and John comes up with him, leaving them kneeling there together looking at each other. 

“Hey,” Indigo says.

John shakes his head very slightly.

Indigo leans over anyway, brushing John’s hair out of his face and straightening the part out a little. Holding John’s face in both hands, he leans in and kisses him, just a chaste pressing of lips.

John submits to that too.

“Let’s get you untangled.”

John opts to get dressed and clean his pistol before the saliva dries and more than it already has. He has to use Indigo’s kit, and watching him work with his hands like this is a pleasure in and of itself. He does everything with that same determination.

John is also cataloguing every visible weapon in the room. It’d be a faux pas from either of them to mention it- but John does anyway, looking up at the older Ruger mini-14 in the middle of the rack. “That’s nice.”

“It was my dad’s.”

And John just nods.

He doesn’t have to explain any further; it’s a simple semi-auto, wood stock, twice as old as Indigo is now. It’s not for work and even they keep sentiment where they can sneak it in. It’s only human, in stark contrast to the angular black racked all around it.

They’re done now. John and his guns are fully reassembled. John looks composed, but Indigo can feel the aftershocks roiling inside himself. Suppressed for now but not for much longer. He says, “You should eat.”

John nods once.

“I mean it.”

John opens the door and walks away. Indigo catches it before it closes, standing there and watching him go.

Snap the leash and keep the collar. Indigo shakes his head, mostly to himself. If John lives long enough, if miracles happen, someday someone will get really really incredibly fucking lucky. Ain’t gonna be him, though, he's already used his luck for Row. 

He probably isn’t gonna live long enough to see Wick retire, and hell, he’s just a hired gun. Like as not, someday he or Row will be hired to stand on the other side of Wick, and that will be that. He hopes they don’t recognize each other.

Indigo heads back on inside, locking the door behind him.

The drop hits him like a brick to the face three steps back into the apartment, kicking him down onto the floor and onto his side.

He comes back to himself sometime later, hands and feet and face tingling and burning like they were asleep. Slowly he drags himself onto the couch and rolls up into a blanket and begs to lose all of the time between now and Row getting home.

He does, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “How’d it go?” Row asks.
> 
> He slowly sticks a thumbs up out of the blanket.
> 
> “How are you?”
> 
> He shrugs. “How’d the job go?”
> 
> “No complications. Got paid.”
> 
> He nods.
> 
> “I’m gonna eat, and I’m gonna force you to eat. Sound good?”
> 
> He nods again. “I want to-”
> 
> “After I put enough calories in you to stop you from shaking so much.”
> 
> God, Row does him so good.


End file.
